


Cannot Be Tamed

by Aate



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Attraction, Awkwardness, Flirting, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, UST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2018-09-02 10:43:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8664589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aate/pseuds/Aate
Summary: It gets insulting after a while, the way Newt Scamander gets upset and nervous in his company. Seriously, have the man face a dragon and he smiles at the thing like it's his long-lost brother, but have him sit on a sofa with Graves for a little while and he's ready to bolt.After Grindelwal had been arrested, one Percival Graves was found in a match box in his breast pocket - lenghty abductions were so inconvenient when you were the head of the department.*** I do not want my fanfics to exist on fanfics.me.





	1. The Photograph

“Get your filthy boots off my sofa, you disgusting son of a bitch,” Percival Graves said as soon as he noticed, upon entering his office, Rodilus Hamsipood lounging on his fine leather Chesterfield, the emerald green sofa given to him by his late Uncle Jester whose tastes had been as refined as his widely admired charmwork. “In fact, get your ass off of it as well.”

“Reserved only for the pretty ones, is it?” Rodilus drawled out from under the fedora that covered the upper half of his clean-shaved face, making no move to get up, twirling his black ebony wand between his fingers instead, a habit that annoyed Percival more than he cared to admit. Rodilus had crossed his boot-clad feet on the armrest and looked in his boss’ office as relaxed and content as he might in his own living room. “Necked many lovely ladies on this very same spot, have you? Or fetching fellows, as the case would more likely be, knowing you.”

Shrugging off his wet coat – it was raining as ever in October – and sending it flying onto the coat rack with a flick of a finger, Percival walked up to his gramophone in the far corner, swiping Rodilus’ shiny boots casually off the arm rest of the sofa as he walked pass by, ignoring the whine of protest that followed the act.

“I would never entertain that kind of company _at work_ , Rod, and you well know it,” he grumbled. “I’m a professional and I take my work very seriously.”

Rodilus sat up with a snort, letting his fedora fall off his face as he did so. It made a flip in the air before proceeding to hover nearby, ready to be worn again, but neither Rodilus nor Percival paid it any mind.

“To be fair, boss, is there anything you _don’t_ take seriously?”

“Sure there is. You, for instance.”

“I’d like to say you’re funny, but that really isn’t one of your attributes.”

Rodilus yawned, getting finally up from the sofa, adjusting his yellow tie, while Percival chose one of his fifteen records, and soon the sounds of _The Wanderful Gangers_ provided them background music. Adjusting his cufflinks, Percival found himself humming to the familiar sounds of jazz, as he took his seat behind the desk and motioned for his pot to pour him a cup of coffee. The pot jumped eagerly at the opportunity to serve and soon he had a cup of steaming black coffee in front of him. The rich scent surrounded him and he breathed it in, while the pot hurried back to its place on the side table next to the cookie jar.

Percival’s mahogany desk, as large and sturdy as they came, had its gleaming surface mostly covered with high piles of papers and parchments – and the occasional clay tablet – that had gathered there during his leave of absence and the sight cheered him up immensely – oh, how he had missed this, how he had missed work! Stamps were now busy marking the papers as “internal business”, “notable”, “URGENT”, “TOP SECRET” and various other things that made Percival determined to start reading them as soon as possible. He might have been gone for some time, yes, but now that he was back, there was no longer any reason for him to avoid his various, pressing responsibilities.

Truth be told, Percival had been itching to get back to work as soon as they had released him from _The Sleeping Alicorn_ , the best wizarding hospital in the continent, some two weeks earlier, but Seraphina had ordered him to take some more time off to rest, and it wasn’t like Percival Graves to go against a direct order, extremely unhappy though he had admittedly been about it.

It had now been months since the last time Percival had stepped a foot in his own office. It had been months since the night he had been attacked, since the night when he had been stumbling along on an alley near his home, pleasantly buzzed after a few good hours spent in fine company due to the celebrations in the honor of the birth of the first born daughter of Auror Kilonski. While Percival hadn’t then been taken off guard by Gellert Grindelwald's attack, precisely, since he had been aware of the wizard’s sudden appearance as soon as Grindelwald had apparated on the dark alley behind him, he had still been too slow, his reflexes had been dulled by all the alcohol clouding his mind, and the fight hadn’t been as long as it could have been had Percival not been as intoxicated as he had been.

Percival had no memories after the fight until the moment he had awoken in The Sleeping Alicorn, but he had been later told that Aurors Kilonski and Ipston had found him in a match box Grindelwald had been carrying in his breast pocket. He had been gone for 145 days and no-one at work had noticed that an evil wizard had assumed his identity. No-one outside of work had noticed it either, but that wasn’t unexpected since there really wasn’t anyone outside of work for him – no family, no close relatives, no friends who also weren’t colleagues.

Afterwards, all the Aurors had been understandably mortified, to say the least, to find out that their director had been abducted and replaced by the evilest wizard of their time – and none of them had noticed anything, having instead kept on writing Grindelwald reports and taking orders from him. It was, frankly put it, a scandal, a security breach of the highest form, and while Percival had laid in _The Sleeping Alicorn_ , unconscious and unresponsive due to the various curses Grindelwald had cast on him, several new rules and practices had already been put in place to prevent such things from happening in the future.

It had taken a month for the healers to lift all the curses and for Percival to wake up from his deep slumber, and it had then taken another month for Aurors to take his statements and to run various tests to prove that he really was who he said he was and for all the bureaucracy that was unavoidably involved when an Auror – the _Director of Magical Security_ and _head of MACUSA's Department of Magical Law Enforcement_ , to boot - got abducted and his identity was assumed by an evil wizard using Polyjuice Potion.

Percival had spent that month by healing, by getting better and stronger each day, by adjusting to having lost quite some days of his life with no memory of them, and while he went to all his scheduled therapy sessions with various kinds of healers, he wasn’t traumatized as much as he was disturbed and _absolutely furious_ – he always tended to get aggravated when someone inconvenienced him by abducting him, especially for such a lengthy period of time.

Feeling eyes on him, Percival looked up from the coffee cup hot in his hand, frowning. Rodilus was regarding him carefully and had apparently been doing so for some time.

“Just so you know, Persephone,” the wizard began with a cough, rubbing his neck in an awkward manner as his freckled face turned gradually red, “I did _kind of_ miss your ass of a face around here when you were in the hospital. I’ve been waiting for you here in your office this morning to… you know, to _welcome you back_."

Rodilus and Percival were both grimacing by now – sentimentality didn’t come easily to either one of them.

”On behalf of everyone, mind you,” Rodilus went on hurriedly as if eager to get the matter done and over with as soon as possible, “because we knew you wouldn’t be happy to have everyone coming here to greet you individually. We know it’d make you… uncomfortable. In any case, we’ve all come to the agreement that it’s not entirely unpleasant to have you back. So… welcome back.”

Avoiding eye contact, Percival cleared his throat, wishing he could have just gone back to work already without ever having to have this conversation.

“Thank you,” he eventually replied and busied his hands by taking a sip of his coffee. It was hot and bitter on his tongue, but he welcomed the sensation, finding it pleasant and familiar to him like routine paperwork after a brutal battle.

“And sorry for, you know…” Rodilus muttered, “for… not noticing a dark wizard was pretending to be you.”

“No lasting harm done,” Percival assured, uncomfortable with such a discussion about emotions and feelings and things he rather didn’t talk about, especially not at work.

With the discussion dealt with, it was clearly the time to start working. Equally excited – working was _wonderful_ – as he was determined, Percival put his coffee cup aside and pulled the paper pile stamped as “URGENT” closer to him, giving the utmost paper, 529 B, a quick glance.

“Can you fill me in on the case 529 B, please.”

Rodilus made a non-committal sound.

“Before you start working on those," he said in a hurried manner, "give this a glance, will you.”

A black-and-white photograph was shoved in Percival’s face and it effectively blocked the case 529 B from his view. Raising a questioning eyebrow, Percival took the offered photograph, motioning absent-mindedly for Rodilus to take a seat in front of the desk. Rodilus was quick to obey and put casually his feet up onto the desk's shiny surface – only to have them forcibly removed again by a wave of Percival’s hand. Percival gave the now scowling Auror a bit of a suspicious glance before looking down at the photo in his hand.

It was a photograph of a slim man in his thirties. The man, wearing a slightly rumpled suit, was standing in front of a brick wall with his arms crossed on his chest like he was attempting to hug himself. The man was biting his lip, his expressive eyes flickering shyly towards the camera and then quickly away again like he was feeling terribly self-conscious over getting photographed, like he was wondering whether it would have been terribly impolite of him to simply run off.

Pretty, more so than handsome, just the kind that did it for Percival, and he therefore made a sour face and looked up from the photograph at Rodilus, who in turn gave him an outright leer as if Percival had just been telling him how he would like the man in the photograph riding certain body parts of his.

“What’s this, then?” Percival was unable to keep the irritation out of his voice.

“Don’t you mean, ‘ _who_ ’s this, then’?”

“No,” Percival snapped. “I definitely meant _'what'_ , as in is this photograph work-related, or is this yet another relative of Ellie’s you’re trying to set me up with?”

Ellie, Rodilus’ wife, worked in the Department of Ancient Charms, and since Rodilus and Ellie were happy and very much in love, they had made it their mission to make other people happy and in love, too. So far five couples had been formed due to their meddling, and – much to Percival’s irritation – both Ellie and Rodilus had decided it was high time for Percival, too, to become “happy and in love”.

“Can’t it be both?”

By way of an answer, Percival glared at the photograph until it took the hint and floated into Rodilus’ breast pocket.

“If that isn’t work-related, I don’t want to see it again, ever,” he said, firmly. “I’ve told you before I _do not like it_ when you get involved in my love life in any shape or form. It never ends well.”

“Come on, now, Percy-boy,” Rodilus whined. “You’ve had tough times recently. Don’t you think a bit of a lay could do you some good? A pretty face and a willing body – that might do wonders for you, you know. Might help you feel more alive after all you’ve been through. Might improve your performance at work, too, if everything has to be about work with you, in some way.”

“I’m really not interested.”

Rodilus sighed and fished the photograph out of his pocket. He gave it a mournful look before turning it towards Percival to show it to him again. He dangled it there between them in a hopeful manner and Percival made a point of not looking at it, choosing instead to glare at the wizard holding it.

“You can't see it in this photograph, but in certain lighting, there seems to be gold on his curls,” Rodilus tried to tempt him. “I’m telling you, Percival, this man is just your type. He’s all shy and blushes, but with a heart full of fire and passion and a mind as clever and sharp as anything. I could bet my monthly pay that you’d have some enjoyable times with him, if you gave it a go. And besides, you like ‘em lean and on the more submissive side, don’t you?”

Percival rubbed a hand over his mouth. Mercy Lewis, he would never again tell Rodilus anything personal.

“I’ve only just come back to work,” he said, trying to rein in his temper. “I’ve spent mere minutes in my own office after all this time. Couldn’t you at least have given me a few hours to settle in before you came in here with… that thing! I don’t have the patience for this right now.”

Rodilus leant forward in his chair, still holding the photograph.

“That thing,” he said in a low voice as if disclosing confidential information, “has a nice perky ass.”

Percival sighed.

“Just get out already, will you.”

“I’m only trying to help out a friend, you know.”

“I know you mean well, Rod, and that’s the only reason why I haven’t yet fed that photograph to you, but if you show it to me one more time, Lewis knows I will shove it so far down your throat you could just as well pull it out of your ass.”

“I guess it will be my snack, then,” Rodilus shrugged, placing the photograph down onto the desk between them.

“You see, boss,” he went on, giving the photograph a poke to emphasize his words, “this _is_ actually work-related: The man in the photo is one Newton Scamander – the wizard, who managed to render Grindelwald harmless for long enough for us to capture him without any casualties on our side. Newt Scamander, the man who realized it was someone else using your face. The very same wizard who cast the revelio on Grindelwald.”

Now _that_ was enough to get Percival well and truly interested. He was leaning forward and reaching out for the photograph before he had even made a conscious decision to do so. Taking a careful look at the man’s face, Percival couldn’t help but feel intrigued.

Newt Scamander. He had heard the name often after having woken up in _The Sleeping Alicorn_ , but this was the first time he had been given a face to put to the name.

Apparently, Seraphina had been so impressed with Scamander’s latest actions she was now quite taken by him, mentioning his antics every now and then in an uncharacteristically fond manner. She had, reportedly, been exchanging owls with Scamander ever since Scamander had returned to England, and while Percival didn’t know what the two of them could possibly be writing to each other about, it was speculated he kept on telling her about various kinds of creatures in the hopes of getting her to understand them better.

Percival had, of course, read Scamander’s witness statement along with those of the other witnesses, some of whom had been obliviated soon after Grindelwald had been captured. Although Percival could see why Seraphina had wanted to move on from the near disaster as soon as possible, considering the international pressure she had been under at the time, he still was of the opinion that Jacob Kowalski had been obliviated too hastily, since he, too, would have had his fair share of questions to ask the man, questions the No-Maj could no longer ever give answers to.

There was nothing wrong with the existing witness statements as they were, but this was one case where Percival wanted to be as thorough as humanly possible, considering his personal interests as well as the fact that Grindelwald was involved – if Percival knew one thing, it was the fact that Grindelwald should not be underestimated under any circumstances.

Besides, unlike the president and the majority of the Aurors, Percival wasn’t convinced Scamander’s part in the events had been entirely coincidental, now that he thought about it. He had perused all the reports and statements several times, and the more he thought about it now, the more Scamander began to bother him: it all just seemed to add up a little _too_ neatly, it all seemed a little too suspicious – the man’s unexpected appearances at various convenient (and inconvenient) times and places, his suspicious love for dangerous creatures, the way he had managed to render Grindelwald, of all people, harmless.

What bothered Percival the most was, however, the way Scamander had been the first one to know that the Percival Graves he had met had not been Percival Graves at all but someone else using Polyjuice Potion. How could the wizard possibly have guessed that? Percival hadn’t ever met this Scamander person, as far as he was aware of, but while his own aurors hadn’t ever suspected Grindelwald’s disguise, Scamander had somehow managed to see right through it. He had seen through it and he had acted accordingly.

That was, simply put, suspicious.

“I need to have this Scamander brought in,” Percival came to a decision, studying the photograph closely. “I have a few questions for him.”

“Of course.” The amusement in Rodilus' voice made Percival look over at him. Rodilus gave him an exaggerated wink. “You want to meet Scamander because ‘you’ve got questions’ for him.”

“I do.” Percival felt suddenly defensive. "I do have questions for him."

“Sure you do." Rodilus smirked. "You've read his file and the statements he's given, but only after you've seen a photograph of him do you decide you _must_ have him in brought in for a questioning. Tell me, Persephone, these questions you need to ask him, do they include questions like ‘Can I take you home for tonight?’ or ‘Spit or swallow?’”

Percival didn’t bother acknowledging that with a retort. Instead, he had one of the office elves deliver an order to the aurors on duty. He told them to locate Newt Scamander and to ask him to come to meet him as soon as possible.

He had questions that needed answers and only Scamander could provide answers to those questions.

And none of that had anything to do with the shy looks Scamander kept giving him from the photograph.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went to see the movie yesterday and I really quite liked it. I immediately went to search for some Newt/Percival fics, but to my sadness there weren't many yet. That's why I had to write one for myself, even though I've got other unfinished fics - I will not be abandoning those, either, but this is where my muse just brought me and I had to follow her (she was pointing a gun at me, I had no choise but to follow, forgive me).


	2. The Questioning

As much as Percival would have liked to get on with Scamander’s questioning right away, there was little to do about it before Scamander was brought in. In the meantime, there were numerous duties to perform, his first priority being the aftermath of Grindelwald’s time as - well - as _him_. After having spent his first morning back by dealing with the most urgent of cases, Percival called his Senior Aurors to a meeting right after lunch.

By the time he entered the conference room A12, Senior Aurors Hamsipood, Bariton, Kilonski, Bartolomeus and Ipston were already gathered around the conference table. They were chattering amongst themselves with thick reports in front of each, but upon noticing Graves, they fell instantly silent and jumped up to their feet as one, chairs scraping against the marble floor. They gave him a sharp salute.

“Sit down, you bastards,” Percival said in his gruff manner and the Senior Aurors obeyed at once, all of them taking their seats in such a hasty, over-eager manner that it might have looked silly to Percival had he had what people widely referred to as “a sense of humor”.

Percival unbuttoned the jacket of his black suit before taking his seat at the head of the table. A thought later, he had his brown leather notebook and a pen in front of him on the desk, ready to be used.

_“If I could do wandless magic, I wouldn’t use it on such mundane things like that.”_

Elisa Ipston’s comment wasn’t meant for Percival’s ear, and while he did hear it, he didn’t bother commenting on it. Instead, he opened his notebook on the first empty page and took the cap off his pen.

Newt Scamander's photograph was in the notebook, right between the cover and the first page, but Percival was careful to not reveal the fact to anyone - especially to Rodilus - who might get ideas that Percival was keeping the photograph in his notebook because he _liked_ looking at it rather than for work-related reasons.

What those work-related reasons might have been, Percival couldn't say and that's why it was vital Rodilus wouldn't get the chance to ask.

“Director Graves.” Bariton was apparently unable to stay silent for longer. “Welcome back, sir!”

“I have already been welcomed back once,” said Percival, even as he put the date and the time of the meeting down on his notebook. “While I appreciate the sentiment, Auror Bariton, I am not so slow-minded that people would need to keep on repeating such phrases to me. Once was more than enough to get the meaning across.”

“Yes, sir, duly noted,” she said, pushing her round glasses up her nose. “Should I cancel the welcoming party, too, then?”

Percival’s eyes snapped to her face and the number nine he had just been scribbling on his notebook became quite distorted.

“The _what_?”

“We can't just go and _cancel_ it,” Rodilus said rather loudly from where he was sitting on his chair in his sluggish manner, half on the chair, seemingly half falling off of it. “All the cake has been delivered already and the guests are waiting in the lobby! The welcoming party _cannot_ be cancelled!”

The look on Percival’s face must have been one of open horror and incredulity indeed because suddenly even Kilonski, with a cigarette dangling from his mouth as usual, was sniggering, as general mirth filled the room.

“Don’t worry, boss,” said Rodilus, grinning, after the room had quietened down once more. “We were just having a bit of a laugh. There’s no cake, nor a party. We wouldn’t force something like that on you. We know you’d loath it.”

“Too damn right,” Percival didn't even try to hide the relief from his voice.

When he had first been filled in on Gridelwald’s deeds upon waking up in the Sleeping Alicorn, Percival had been mentally prepared to find his precious department in ruins and his best Senior Aurors reassigned – if they were lucky – to “lost and found” wards to sweep floors and to organize lost hats just because Grindelwald had wanted the most competent aurors conveniently removed, out of his way. It was, therefore, somewhat of a surprise to come to the eventual conclusion that Grindelwald had _not_ done _anything_ to the Senior Aurors but had, in fact, allowed them to continue working on as usual. Grindelwald had apparently even helped them to capture other dark wizards during his time in charge.

“His strategies were not bad,” Auror Bariton gave her assessment of Grindelwald after the Senior Aurors had all given Percival a summary of their reports to start off the meeting. “Some of his tactics to capture dark wizards were actually quite brilliant. I’ve described those tactics more in my report on attachment 72. Hold on a moment…”

Pushing her round glasses up her nose once again, she flipped her thick report open on the said attachment and handed the report over to Percival, who eyed the content with interest.

“In the addition of being a brilliant strategist,” Bariton went on, “I would go as far as to describe him as a perfectionist. He demanded excellence, he demanded high standards, both from himself and from everyone who worked for him. He behaved professionally, although he was often somewhat grouchy and stern and didn’t enjoy socializing. Glared a lot. Brooded on occasion. He was obviously a very powerful, capable wizard, confident in his abilities. So, as you can see, sir, we had no way of knowing he wasn’t you – Grindelwald impersonated you very well.”

“He must have observed you for quite a while beforehand,” Kilonski agreed darkly. “He couldn’t have managed such a perfect impression otherwise.”

Percival _was_ great at his job and he knew that, too. He knew it, not in a boastful kind of way, but like you just knew some facts – water was wet, the Sun was hot, Percival Graves was an outstanding auror and the most powerful wizard their department had ever had. He was known for loving working and being proud of his high standards, and since Grindelwald had needed everyone to believe that he was, in fact, Percival Graves, Grindelwald had _needed_ to do Percival’s job properly, it would have been an absolute necessity for his plan to work, since it would have been suspicious, to say the least, if Percival's standards had suddenly dropped noticeably.

To pass for Percival, Grindelwald had therefore _needed_ to care for Magical Law Enforcement, as unpleasant though as that had to have been for him. For someone with no previous experience on working for MACUSA, Grindelwald had, in any case, done an intimidatingly good job – that was to say, the department had not fallen into chaos, and while the productivity had gone down nearly twenty-five percent due to a _certain_ level of incompetence in its conduct, there wasn’t anything there that Percival couldn’t get fixed, given the time.

All in all, things weren’t nearly as bad as he had feared they would be. That was why Percival – with a refilled coffee mug in hand – was in uncharacteristically good moods, as he walked back to his office after the meeting had been adjourned nearly three hours after it had begun.

The first thing he noticed upon stepping into clear view of his office (at the end of the hallway in the sixth floor), was his secretary, Miss Pines talking to Junior Auror Alpo Poverrus. That, in itself, wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, seeing as the two were cousins, and so Percival didn’t bother paying any attention to them apart from a nod of acknowledgement.

What did, however, made him falter in his steps was the sight that greeted him when he stepped pass Miss Pines’ desk and came to see the bench – previously blocked by the desk – outside his office, next to the door, the bench on which the people he had requested to see would wait to be called in. Now, there wasn’t anyone sitting on that bench, exactly, although there was a blue coat – with a wand sticking out of its pocket – disregarded carelessly on it.

Even though Percival couldn’t understand people who would willingly leave their wands lying around like that – he was always careful to keep his wand in his person, and if someone tried to take it from him, as sometimes inevitably did happen, he fought to tooth and nail for it – it wasn’t the disregarded blue coat that made his steps falter, nor was it the wand sticking out of the coat’s pocket. No, it was neither one of those things. What it was that did make him falter, however, was the ass that was peeking out from under the bench.

There was an ass sticking out from under the bench and not just any nice ass, but an ass just about the size that would fit in Percival’s hands perfectly. Someone had crawled half underneath the bench, likely to look for a dropped item, and now they were there with their front down, ass up, thighs slightly apart, presenting themselves to Percival, unintentionally or not. The brown fabric that covered their behind wasn’t tight-fitting, exactly, but it was tight enough to reveal a satisfyingly round, perky shape, and while it wasn’t professional at all to stare at asses at work, Graves looked his share rather shamelessly, sipping his satisfyingly bitter coffee as he did so.

“Mr. Scamander is here to see you, sir,” Miss Pines informed him matter-of-factly from where she was still sitting at her desk. “Auror Poverrus showed him in some fifty minutes ago.”

She had barely managed to end her first sentence when a sudden dull thump came from underneath the bench – caused by the person under the bench, likely startled to realize that they were now in the presence of Director Graves, hitting their head on the bottom of the bench, judging from the, “ _Ow_ ,” that immediately followed the thump. Then the lovely ass was moving when the person it belonged to hurriedly crawled out from under the bench, and soon of a pair of green eyes was peeking up at Percival from behind a curly mess of hair.

Even if Miss Pines had not just told him the name of the slim man now kneeling right before him, a bottle of ink clasped in his hands, Percival would have recognized him instantly from the photograph Rodilus had shown him that morning.

Newt Scamander.

Newt Scamander, who had just been crawling under a bench to pick up an ink bottle, from the looks of things.

Newt Scamander, who had been the first one to see through Grindelwald’s disguise.

Newt Scamander, who had tied up Grindelwald for just long enough for Percival's Aurors to arrest him.

Newt Scamander, whose ass would fit in Percival's hands just perfectly.

Newt Scamander.

Huh.

Percival had expected it to take quite a while – possibly up to weeks – for Scamander to be brought in from England, and it was therefore quite a surprise to find the wizard in question now outside his office, just some eight hours after hehad initially requested to meet him.

“Thank you for bringing him in, Auror Poverrus,” Percival said to the Junior Auror, never taking his eyes off Scamander, who was now scrambling to get up to his feet while holding the bottle of blue ink with both of his hands. ”You may go back to your duties now. Dismissed.”

With a salute, Poverrus did as he was told, and since it was impossible to apparate inside the department building, turned on his heels and simply walked away. After a quick glance to acknowledge the salute, Percival went right back to studying Scamander, who had – by now – managed to get up.

It looked like Scamander was trying to hold the cork of the ink bottle closed, and since Percival was aware enough of Scamander’s reputation as someone who seemed to have more love for odd creatures than common sense, his behavior with the bottle was enough to _suggest_ , at the very least, that the ink bottle contained a creature of some kind and that Scamander was now trying to keep the creature from escaping.

Noticing Percival's critical gaze, Scamander’s eyes widened and he stuffed the bottle into the pocket of his trousers before hastily retreating his disregarded coat from the bench. Scamander, with pink spots forming on his cheeks, proceeded to hold the coat on his arm, conveniently in front of his trouser pocket, while raising his eyebrows and looking about the hallway in a manner that was likely supposed to come across as nonchalant but only served to confirm Percival’s suspicions about the bottle.

“Accio,” Percival muttered the spell and a heartbeat later the ink bottle was in his hand, despite of the desperate attempt Scamander made to grasp it from the air.

“Please be careful with that.” Scamander spoke with an accent as pleasant to Percival’s ears as his looks were to Percival's eyes, but that didn’t stop him from giving Scamander a sharp look of warning, as the man made the mistake of stepping a little too close. Scamander wrung his hands, looking distraught, but went on rather stubbornly, “It’s not illegal to own a bottle of ink in New York, is it, so be kind and give me my bottle back.”

Percival flashed his teeth at Scamander.

“I will, as soon as I have made sure that this is, in all actuality, just a bottle of ink and nothing more exciting than that. You will get your bottle back once I have inspected it – assuming there will not be a reason for me to confiscate it.”

With Scamander fidgeting right in front of him, Percival put his half full coffee mug down on the bench and studied the ink bottle carefully, turning it this way and that. He couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary and so he pointed his wand at the thing to cast a few experimental spells.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Scamander’s voice had a sharp edge to it. “It’s... expensive glass and the bottle is... really special to me. It’ll dim, if you cast a spell on it.”

“I’m not nearly as incompetent a spell caster as you seem to believe, Mr. Scamander. If this is indeed just a bottle of ink, the glass won’t be dimmed by my spells.”

Despite of the various spells Percival casted on the ink bottle, nothing out of the ordinary happened. The bottle was empty, apart from some black ink, and it really did appear that the bottle was exactly what it seemed to be – a regular bottle of ink. Apologetically, Percival handed the bottle back to its owner, who didn’t waste a moment pocketing it. 

“Now that we have that cleared up,” Percival said, “we can move on to our meeting.”

He hold out his hand and Scamander stared at the offered limp with visible hesitation for a few short moments before he took it, after having moved his coat with an awkward movement from his right arm onto the left. Scamander's hand was warm and dry in Percival's, and while it was more slender than Percival’s own and while the wrist looked delicate peeking from the cuff of the white shirt, Scamander’s skin was callused and his grip just as firm and strong as any an aurors.

“Mr. Scamander.” Percival gave the lean hand a shake before releasing it and picked up his coffee mug from the bench. “My name is Percival Graves. I’m the Director of Magical Security and the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I understand you met Gellert Grindelwald during the time he spent pretending to be me and regarding that, I have some questions I would like for you to answer. Since this is my first day back at work, it has taken me until today to request your presence. Considering it only took a few hours for you to answer my call and come in here, I take it that you were in New York or somewhere nearby?”

Scamander met Percival's eyes for a heartbeat before casting them down. The red on his cheeks deepened. His voice was so soft when he finally spoke that Percival almost didn’t hear it from the general, constant murmur of the lively department around them.

“Yes, I have President Picquery's permission to be in New York to market my new book, Mr. Graves. _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_.”

Percival nodded, politely.

“And where to find them,” he repeated with approval.

It was true what Rodilus had said: Scamander’s hair did seem to have gold on it and it almost appeared to be gleaming despite of the cold lights of the hallway. Percival couldn’t help but glance further down, surreptitiously, and – _Lewis_ , Scamander was biting his lip. Percival’s eyes instantly zeroed in on the sight. As he watched, the lips opened, just the slightest bit, and a pink tongue slipped out to moisten them – one quick lick and then it was gone again. Percival missed it instantly. Wistfully, he looked up. Scamander’s lashes looked dark against his freckled skin.

Scamander, looking just as shy as in the photograph Percival had in his notebook, met his gaze again, if only briefly, and suddenly the thought that this was not, in fact, _their_ first meeting hit Percival like someone had poured a bucket full of ice cold water on him. This was not _their_ first meeting, was it. Scamander had already formed an opinion of him, Scamander had already memories of him, even though it hadn’t been _him_ at all whom Scamander had met.

It was infuriating that _Grindelwald_ , of all people, had had the chance to give the first impression of _him_ , _Percival_ , to _Scamander_. He would have terribly like to have had that chance for himself.

145 days and the first impression Scamander was given. That was what Grindelwald had taken from him.

Scamander was again staring down, the curly fringe hiding his eyes from view. What could be seen from his face looked flushed.

“It was quite a good idea to include descriptions of creatures' natural habitat in the book, Mr. Scamander," Percival said, even as he unlocked the door to his office and motioned for Scamander to step inside. The wizard was hesitant to obey, but eventually did so anyway.

"Thanks to you, it will now be all the easier for my aurors to find the beasts and to get rid of them for good.”

Percival had intended that as a compliment, but Scamander didn’t seem pleased at all. If anything, he blanched, stopping in his tracks, as Percival pulled the door closed behind them.

“I meant the book for _educational purposes_ only!” It was the sharpest Scamander had so far spoken and it did make Percival pause, even if Scamander was still addressing the tips of his brown boots. The slender hands clenched into tight fists. “My book is not a hunting guide and I ask you to not use it as one.”

Bewildered, Percival didn't know what to say to that, so he didn't say anything.

This was not how the questioning – or any questioning, for that matter – was supposed to go. _He_ wasn’t supposed to be the one feeling guilty. _He_ wasn’t supposed to feel like he wanted to apologize and he most certainly was _not_ supposed to be attracted to someone he was about to start questioning. He was not _supposed_ to, not at all. And yet, this one time, he was anyway.

He had clearly been away from work for too long, Percival reasoned with himself. This all came down to his lengthy absence, and once he would find his feet again, it would all go away and he would become just as professional as he always was.

Or had been. Before he had begun to stare at Scamander’s ass- _at work!_

“Please, Mr. Scamander, do sit down." He gestured towards the two chairs in front of his desk and Scamander took his seat, slowly, on the chair nearer to the door.

Without any further ado, Percival emptied the coffee mug with a gulp and put it onto the side table with the coffeepot, then took his own seat at the desk and steepled his fingers. The questioning could begin.

"You were the first one to realize the director of the department was, in fact, Gellert Grindelwad in disguise," he stated after having asked a few minor questions about the subject. "How did you come to that conclusion?"

"I was terrible at Defence Against Dark Arts at school," Scamander said with a shrug, clasping his hands between his knees - which was not at all what Percival had asked to know.

Fortunately, Scamander went on before Percival had a chance to point that out.

"I was so bad that my professor, Albus Dumbledore offered to give me private lessons - which I had to take in order to pass the class. One time he told me about the different wand styles all witches and wizards have. He said that each style is just as different as the wand being held. Among the examples Professor Dumbledore used, there was the way Grindelwald holds his wand - slightly off center with the pinkie crooked. Professor Dumbledore made me memorize it, telling me that if I ever saw someone holding their wand in that same manner, it was likely that I had just encountered Grindelwald, no matter what the person holding the wand would actually look like. It turned out, Professor Dumbledore was right - that's exactly how I was able to recognize Grindelwald, even though he was disguised as... erm, you, Mr. Graves."

Percival leant back in his chair and tapped the armrest with a finger, regarding Scamander carefully.

"If I were to ask Albus Dumbledore to confirm your story, would he do it?"

Scamander bit his lip - Percival was careful to not watch, this time, because _he was a professional_ \- before answering, "Perhaps. If he remembers me, then he will."

After a few more minutes of rather intense questioning, Percival had nothing more to ask. He had satisfied his curiosity and believed now that Scamander had not been involved in Grindelwald's plans in any manner or form. Scamander was just as innocent as he appeared to be, and if it hadn't been for his love for illegal creatures, he would have likely been quite the law-abiding citizen.

Percival had just thanked Scamander for coming in and had given him the permission to leave, and Scamander - relief written all over his face - had just stood up to leave, when the ink bottle - suddenly and completely unexpectedly - flew out of Scamander's pocket, quick as a lightning. It proceeded to attack Percival like an angry bumblebee, spurting black ink all over his immaculately tailored suit.

With a reflexive flick of his fingers, Percival had his wand in his hand. He pointed his wand at the ink bottle - _"No, wait, please!"_ \- only for Scamander's coat to hit the floor and for Scamander himself to be up on the desk in a heartbeat.

Papers and parchments flew all around and Scamander crumpled up case files in his haste to get to either Percival or the ink bottle, it was unclear to which.

"Don't hurt her!"

Reaching one hand towards the flying ink bottle and the other towards Percival's wand-holding arm, Scamander ended up slipping on the case file 698 A and falling off the desk - he would have fallen onto the floor, hitting it face first, if Percival hadn't happened to be conveniently in the way. Instead of onto the floor, Scamander landed onto _Percival_ , his fumbling arms going around Percival's broad shoulders, and Percival, with his wand still pointed at the ink bottle, found himself frozen now that he suddenly had a lap full of perfectly lovely ass and a pretty, freckled face pressed against his ink-smeared shoulder.

"She's just a scared inkypuff." Scamander's breath was hot and wet against his neck. "She's completely harmless!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing this fic for myself, but since it looks like many other people are interested in reading it, too, I'll continue posting it online for our shared pleasure.
> 
> Thank you for your comments and kudos! They sure do keep me motivated. I haven't been answering comments, but please, take this chapter as a reply to your comment.


	3. Lovers Interrupted

Of course – because _of course_ – that was when the door was pulled open and Miss Pines stepped inside with a black writing pad clutched to her slim chest.

“President Piquery and her entourage are here to see you, sir,” she said before her eyes seemed to take in the situation: Percival, with Scamander sitting on his lap with his thighs on either side of Percivals’, Scamander’s arms around Percival’s neck, Percival’s wand pointing at the ink bottle now dripping black ink onto them both. Her jaw dropped, her eyes widened and she blinked, just the once, before twirling around, spreading out her arms to block people from pouring in, trying in vain to prevent people from entering.

“Director Graves will see you all some other time!” she cried, sounding just a tad desperate, as she tried in vain both to push people out of the office and to block their view with her writing pad, but with President Piquery, Rodilus, Kilonski and several politicians already in the office – gaping at Percival and Scamander – the harm was already done and there was no way around it. Miss Pines seemed to realize this too, judging from the apologetic, mortified look she casted in Percival’s way.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she squeaked. “The- the light at the door – it was _green_! I swear it was green, it wasn’t red or yellow! That’s why I let people in. I didn’t know you were… occupied with a personal matter.”

The light on the door had indeed been green, indicating that Percival could be disturbed without further notice. Percival, having already finished Scamander’s questioning, had turned it green himself from his desk just before the ink bottle – the _inkypuff_ , as the thing apparently was called – had attacked him. Miss Pines – the discretion herself – couldn’t possibly have known she would find her supervisor in such a compromising position, or she never would have allowed the president, two Senior Aurors and various politicians to enter the office without a warning. Yet, even though she hadn’t known, Percival had now been caught with a wizard on his lap in his office during work hours – it was unheard of and would undoubtedly be the gossip of the week.

Percival saw the moment Seraphina took it all in. He saw her staring at Scamander blankly for a few silent moments before her gaze slowly moved to Percival and then back to Scamander again.

“Hello, Newt.”

“Hullo,” said Scamander with his heavy accent and Percival could feel his chest moving against his own, “Madame President.”

“I was going to introduce you two,” Seraphina said with a cough, raising her eyebrows increduously as she met Percival's gaze, “but seeing as the two of you seem to be rather familiar with each other already, it looks like there is no need for me to do that.”

“I’m not ‘occupied with a personal matter’,” Percival said stiffly and tried to untangle himself from Scamander, who hadn’t yet had the sense to let go off him.

The people in the room were all staring, Percival could feel his Senior Aurors' eyes on him, but he didn't look at either one, especially not at Rodilus.

“This is a misunderstanding! And Mr. Scamander and I are not familiar with each other at all – we have only just met.”

He finally brought down his wand, still pointed at the inkypuff, and the inkypuff chose that moment to lower itself onto the desk - it had to look like Percival had just lowered an ink bottle down after having poured its contents onto them both: Not only had the people in his office just caught him with a lap full of a lovely wizard, they had also caught him seemingly pouring ink onto himself and his supposed love interest - it was only a matter of hours before the whole department would believe he had an affinity for ink-play.

“I see you have met indeed,” Seraphina coughed. She looked away from Percival and Scamander’s tangled, ink-smeared bodies, appearing somewhat embarrassed like anyone would after walking in on their friends being... _intimate_ , Percival grimaced. “I must apologize for barging in like I did, Percival. It hadn’t occurred to me that you might be… getting to know Newt a little bit better.”

“I am not!” Percival insisted, but she raised a hand to quiet him and he did, grudgingly, fall silent because he wasn’t one to go against an order given by his superior, just a hand sign or otherwise.

“Please, Percival,” she now sounded _fond_ , of all things, and Percival did not like that in the least, “do not be embarrassed. Surprised though I am, I also must admit I'm quite glad on your behalf – you and Newt will complement each other in the nicest of ways, I’m sure of it.”

Percival wasn't one to entertain just anyone in his office, and if he he had brought someone in - as it looked like he had - for reasons relating to physical pleasure, it was no wonder if Seraphina had come to the conclusion that he was interested in Scamander in a more serious manner.

Percival was just about to make it clear for one and for all that he had not - had _not_ \- been entertaining Scamander in any way, that Scamander had literally dropped onto his lap, when it suddenly occured to him how implausible and unlikely it all - "He _fell_ on me!" - would sound. It would sound like he was coming up with excuses - and coming up with excuses would be something out of character of him since he never avoided responsibility. If Seraphina was now given the impression that he was coming up with excuses, she might decide he was yet not fit for work - who knew, she might even _order him to take a vacation!_

Percival snapped his mouth shut because a vacation was the last thing he needed or wanted. Even having the whole department believe he liked to see his bed partners swimming in ink was preferable to a vacation. He had been away from work for long enough as it was.

“In fact,” Seraphina went on and now she was beaming like she had just come up with a solution that pleased her indeed, “I shall appoint Newt as your consultant on creatures and his first task shall be to educate you on them, like he has done with me. Isn’t that nice of me? You get to spend more time together! You have both deserved it, it will do you some good.”

Percival and Scamander looked at each other rather dubiously, and then, finally, Scamander climbed off Percival's lap.

"Terribly sorry," he mumbled, his face red, eyes downcast.

* * *

“So… you have a thing for ink-play?” Rodilus asked the moment he and Percival were alone a few hours later. “I mean, I couldn’t help but see the way you were pouring it onto the both of you.”

“Shut the fuck up, Hamsipood.”

“No, no, it’s okay – we’ve all got our thing. I, for instance, like it when-”

“ _Shut the fuck up, Hamsipood._ I’m not talking about this with you.”

* * *

Percival might not have wanted to talk about fetishes with Rodilus, but – by order of Piquery – he needed to now start talking with Scamander on a regular basis about creatures. Had he not been as rule-abiding as he was, he might have tried to find a way to avoid that particular task, if only because the way Miss Pines would turn scarlet every time she showed Scamander into his office annoyed him.

“I’ll make sure you won’t be disturbed, sir!” she assured him with audible determination, red-faced, and even though he tried to convince her that he was _not_ going to be ravishing any magizoologists that day – or any other day – she simply nodded at him and answered, “Yes, sir! I understand, sir – I will not be spreading any rumors – you can trust me!”

And if the new arrangement bothered Percival, what bothered him even more was the way Scamander looked absolutely miserable when he sat down on Percival's prised Chesterfield. It was obvious he was only there because Seraphina had requested it of him, it was obvious that Scamander liked the situation even less than Percival did. Scamander actually _winced_ when Percival sat down onto the sofa next to him, even though Percival was careful to sit as far away from him as possible to respect his personal space.

“Get on with it,” was all Percival could think of saying, uncomfortable as he was due to Scamander’s visible discomfort - he might have found Scamander lovely as anything, but Scamander clearly didn't feel the same about him. “Tell me about your creatures.”

“Which one?” Scamander’s voice was quiet. “There are many.”

Percival couldn’t help the impatient note in his tone.

“You choose.”

Of course Scamander began with inkypuffs, seeing as Percival had confiscated the one from him as soon as Seraphina and her entourage had left the office after having found Percival and Scamander in their compromising position - inkypuffs were, after all, among illegal creatures. Percival now had the inkypuff in the drawer of his desk (he couldn't explain even to himself why he hadn't yet taken it to get registered) and Scamander went into such great detail on how to look after an inkypuff that he might as well have thought that Percival was planning on becoming an inkypuff breeder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, I didn't put as much thought to this chapter as I could have, but I'll be sharing it with you anyways because otherwise the fic might get stuck for who knows how long and we wouldn't want that, would we.
> 
> Thanks for the kudos&comments! Please let me know if you enjoyed the chapter. Comments _really_ are motivating me to write more.


	4. The Dragon

With the help of a pipette, Percival fed the inkypuff, conscientiously, following Scamander's instructions to the letter. _Fifteen ink droplets in the morning_ , Scamander had said, _thirty at noon, and then again fifteen in the evening. Otherwise she'll be hungry._

Rodilus, naturally, found it hilarious his boss was pipette-feeding a temperamental ink bottle in the middle of a meeting, but that couldn't be helped because it was noon - which meant feeding time - and the inkypuff was now Percival's responsibility and he was damned if he would starve anyone or anything in his care - he even watered the orchic on Junior Auror Wessington's desk because the kid was too much of an ass to understand orchids needed _enriched rainwater_ with the _exact right temperature_ every five to seven days, not tap water - or Lewis forbid, _coffee_ \- whenever someone happened to remember.

"Stop with your cackling already," grumbled Kilonski, slapping Rodilus in the back of his head with the hand that wasn't holding a smoking cigarette, and Percival was actually thankful to him - up until he went on with, "Show some support instead: it can't be easy for the bossman to be a homemaker and a dad to an ink bottle while his pretty little spouse is running around the continent after dragons and whatnot."

"This meeting is over," declared Percival, but he had to say it three times before it actually could be heard from Rodilus' renewed howl of a laughter. "Dismissed!"

When the two aurors finally rose to leave, Percival aimed a sharp kick at Kilonski's behind, but the man was quick to take his python form - with the ever-present cigarette still dangling safely in the corner of his mouth - and to slither away, hissing in a manner that sounded suspiciously like laughter - which only sent Rodilus off again.

Focused on feeding the twentieth ink drop to Cecilia, as Scamander had named the inkypuff, Percival resisted the urge to rub his temples, while Rodilus fumbled his way to the door, laughing so hard he could barely stand.

Children. He worked with children.

He made a mental point to have all his Senior Aurors to participate in a few mandatory lectures on proper protocol and professionalism. A reminder of appropriate guidance was clearly needed - not only for his aurors, but for him too.

* * *

The Elms trees around them were on fire. They blazed, spitting out bursts of sparks with sharp sudden cracking noises. The smoke, silvery in the light of the crescent Moon, rose to the starry sky and its smell, thick but almost sweet, was strong in the air, the smell of earthy ash and scorched wood.

Never once taking his eyes off the dragon standing on an outcrop with its blue wings spread out, Percival called out to his Aurors, ordering them to contain the fire. He stood there in front of the dragon in a fighting stance, some ten yards from it with his wand at the ready, studying the beast, calculating. The dragon roared at him – and the next instant Percival had a cloud of fire breathed right at him.

He managed a defensive charm just in time, putting up a shield but a second before the heat hit him. For several longs moments he was in the center of it all, surrounded by roaring flames and poisonous gasses, braced against the fiery wind strong like a storm.

“Fucking _mongrel of a lob worm_ ,” he cursed to himself. While the heat didn’t burn him due to the defensive shield around him, the smell of burnt sulfur was still strong enough to make his eyes water, and the the power behind the stormy fire had him swaying backwards. He gritted his teeth and stood his ground, eyes watering until he had tears running down his cheeks. “Lewis, what a _cunt_ of a _slug_.”

When finally no more fiery wind was forthcoming, the green grass around him had turned into grey ash and the marble fountain behind him was black and charred, all its water evaporated, the iron pigeon statues melted into formless blobs. Skin flushed, eyes smarting, Percival was panting due to the effort it had taken to keep the shield up against such a powerful attack.

“Graves!” Rodilus, the leader of Air Aurors, called out to him from where he was circling above the area on his broom. “Still okay? Need us to pick you up?”

“No, I'm fine. Carry on.”

Percival waved a hand, letting his Aurors know he was alive and well.

A couple of teenage witches, having sneaked out to Central Park after their curfew, had been the ones to encounter the dragon first and they had informed the department of it half an hour ago. The dragon was now standing on its hind legs, eyes black like coal, clearly looking for its next target, the next human to scorch. There were many to choose from, both on the ground and in the air on their brooms. It was, after all, a major operation, code Red 15-a, and Percival – as the leader of the operation and the head of the department – had wasted no resources in getting the fire-breathing beast surrounded.

The risk the dragon posed for the safety of the people of New York as well as for the magical community becoming exposed to No-Maj people was considerable and the situation was not to be underestimated. Percival wanted the dragon _gone_ , relocated or dead, he cared little which, although he was positive killing it would be easier – which was why he was now assessing the beast up close, searching for weak spots to hit, the only one powerful enough to dare to get close enough. The dragon had blue scales all over it and they gleamed silvery-blue in the moon light. It was the size of a house, its sharp claws as big as Percival's waist.

There were no weak spots.

“Eyes!” Percival called out after the third time the dragon had tried to roast him. “Aim for the eyes!”

There were no weak spots, but eyes were likely the _weakest_ there were. Even then, killing the beast wouldn't be easy.

“All field curses allowed," he gave the rare permission. "On my mark!”

Up in the air, Rodilus had his two teams of air aurors circling the dragon closer, while Bartolomeus, Ipston and Kilonski all commanded their Junior Aurors on the ground, gesturing for them to move to their positions, repeating Percival’s orders until everyone was fully aware of what would happen next.

Percival raised his wand, ready to order the joined attack – just as there was a sudden cracking sound right near his ear signaling someone apparating by his side. Exasperated, believing it to be one of the Junior Aurors having misunderstood the Senior Aurors’ orders, he glanced at his side, a sharp command ready on his lips – only for him to see Newton Scamander standing next to him.

With his untucked shirt, the black smudge on his cheek, and suspenders attached to brown tweed trousers, Scamander looked like he had apparated there quite unprepared – he wasn’t even wearing a tie or his coat, for Lewis’ sake! Unlike the grim, prepared looks all around them on the faces of Percival's aurors, Scamander's expression was... it was one of pure _awe_ and outright _admiration_. He studied the dragon with his round eyes shining, grinning from ear to ear like the beasts’ presence was the happiest thing to have happened to him since his arrival to New York.

It made Graves inexplicably exasperated.

Besides, the last thing he needed on an ongoing operation involving a dragon was _a wide-eyed civilian_.

“Scamander!” He focused his gaze back on the dragon before them, causing the man next to him to give a start like he had just been shaken out of a day dream. “What _the fuck_ are you here for?”

“I’m here to help the dragon,” was the softly-spoken answer. “You're scaring her.”

 _They_ were scaring _it_?

Scamander was out of his mind.

“Get away from my scene,” Percival ordered in a brusque manner. “Apparate behind my aurors, if you want to observe the beast, but _do not get in our way_. I will not have the time to spare for your protection.”

Scamander made no move to obey and Percival shot him a glare, only to be met with a jaw stiff with determination and eyes simultaneously gentle and angry.

“I will not let your ignorance kill a treasure like her," was said, calmly. "And I ask you to not make the situation any worse. With all due respect, Mr. Graves, I need to get _closer_ to gain her trust.”

Based on the tone of his voice, it sounded like Scamander thought _Percival_ was the mad one out of the two of them.

Percival hardened his glare, glanced briefly at the dragon, turned back to Scamander the order to "back the fuck away" ready on his lips – only to see Scamander was no longer standing by his side. Initially satisfied, he believed the man had done the wise thing and had apparated behind the aurors as he had been told to do, but as soon as his gaze returned to the dragon, it became apparent how clearly he had been mistaken: there, right between the giant claws, there stood Scamander, petting the blue scales like the dragon was nothing but a bunny.

Spitting out a curse, he could feel his knees going a little weak. Had he not lost enough people already? He didn't want to witness Scamander's death.

“There, there, little one, feels good to be tickled, doesn’t it?” he heard Scamander saying to the dragon.

The beast tilted its head slowly to look down at Scamander with its black eyes, smoke coming out of its nostrils.

Cursing, his eart suddenly pounding against his ribcase, Percival threw off his coat to make himself lighter, to make himself faster - _"Team Beta, cover me!"_ \- and wasted no time to apparate by Scamander’s side – his shoulder brushed briefly against the dragon’s smooth scales as he came to stand between Scamander and the beast – and grasped Scamander by the front of his white shirt before apparating him well behind the line of aurors where the crisp night air was a cold contrast to the suffocating heat nearer the sulfur-smelling dragon.

Scamander blinked, finding himself suddenly in the darkness. He looked at Percival with an exasperated, confused frown from behind his mess of curly hair like he couldn’t quite fathom why Graves had bodily removed him from the dragon’s side.

“For Lewis' sake, Scamander,” Percival resisted the urge to shake Scamander. “ _Stay here._ Do not interfere with my operation again.”

“But you don’t even know what you’re doing,” said Scamander, matter-of-factly – he _clearly_ had no common sense in his head whatsoever, but Percival did not have the time to point that out. He had a dragon to deal with.

“ _Here_ ,” he therefore repeated, angrily, giving Scamander as dark a glare as he could and a bit of a push to emphasize his words, pointing at the ground beneath them with his wand, “stay here, _away_ from the _dragon_. I don’t need you getting in the way. I need to focus on the operation, not on a clueless civilian running about playing a dragon tamer.”

“Excuse me, but-“ Scamander began, but Percival _did_ have an operation to lead, a dragon to slay, and he apparated back to his place in the front line, thus missing the rest of whatever it was that Scamander might have wanted to say to him.

The teams had kept the dragon busy in Percival's absence, shooting hexes at it, but it was clearly growing more angry. Facing the beast once more, Percival was again about to give his aurors the sign to start their attack, but before he had managed more than to tighten his hold on his wand, Scamander appeared between the dragon’s claws once again, lips a tight line, his whole demeanor one of stubborn determination.

“Oh for fuck's sake, Scamander!” Percival yelled at his face, having once more removed him from the danger, apparating them both behind the auror line. “Are you out of your fucking mind! This is your last warning. Do as you're told and _stay here_.”

Now it was Scamander who grasped _him_ by the wrist, firmly, preventing him from disapparating.

“Mr. Graves,” was said with uncharacteristic sharpness, “that dragon is a Boston Blue Wings. They are gentle, playful, and _extremely endangered_.”

“As are my aurors, if I don’t go back to slay it.”

Scamander blanched.

“But-“ he sounded a little desperate, his hold on Percival's wrist tightening as if by instinct, “but you wouldn’t- _why_ \- there is no _need_ to-“

As Percival tried to pull his arm free - he did not have the time for this - Scamander swallowed hard, seeming to compose himself.

“I have dealt with dragons before.” He met Percival's gaze - the dragon's fire in the distance was reflected in his eyes, it almost looked like he was burning from the inside - before lowering it down onto Percival's jaw. “Boston Blue Wings, they are an excitable species, they are wise and they understand kind touch – physical touch is a vital part to their communication, that is how they talk to each other. Please, Mr. Graves, I _am_ an experienced magizoologist, I do know what I'm doing. Just as you know how to lead an auror operation, I know how to interact with creatures. Let me- let me try? Maybe I can coax her to fly elsewhere. There is no need to use violence when she's just trying to defend herself. She's likely just a little bit lost, young as she is.”

Hearing the roar of the cornered beast from where his aurors were trying to keep it in place until he came back, Percival studied the man before him critically. This _was_ the same wizard who had fought Grindelwald, not at all unsuccessfully, the wizard who had dared to face an Obscurus on his own.

The wizard who had been observant enough to be the one to realize Grindelwald was not _Percival_ , despite of appearances.

As reluctant as Percival was to put a civilian knowingly in harm’s way, Scamander had earned the benefit of the doubt, and not only that, but he _was_ also a respected magizoologist, a MACUSA consult, a particularly knowledgeable wizard when it came to creatures and beasts, including dragons, as had become clear in the course of the two weeks Scamander had so far been educating Percival on creatures.

If it was possible to not risk the safety of his aurors, surely Percival would need to give it a chance rather than to have his people needlessly antagonize a fire-breathing beast the size of a house?

“Very well,” he found himself saying and Scamander’s face immediately brightened like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “I will let you try to tame the beast. But if you fail, I will kill it – and if you then interfere, I will personally arrest you for obstruction of an operation. Is that understood?”

Scamander nodded his head, frantically, meeting Percival’s eyes for a flash of a second before his gaze once again landed on a spot on Percival’s chest as if he was simply too shy to hold the eye contact for longer – Percival had an operation to run and a dragon to deal with and it certainly was neither the place nor the time to find anything _endearing_.

They apparated back, Scamander to his spot between the claws, Percival nearby, tense, ready to move in the second he would be needed. He motioned for his aurors to stand by, to not attack, receiving a few raised eyebrows but no objections.

“Now, there,” Scamander began to speak to the dragon, moving his hands up and down on its scales, “there is absolutely nothing here for you to worry about, my beautiful darling. Do you feel my touch? Isn’t this just the nicest of feelings, someone petting and tickling you?”

The dragon lifted a claw, Percival tightened his hold on his wand, ready to strike – but the dragon didn’t swipe at Scamander. If anything, it looked like it was trying to give him better access to its chest. Scamander continued whatever it was that he was doing, the dragon stood there above them – and gradually it closed its eyes and began to _purr_ , of all things.

It went on like that for closer to an hour, Scamander petting the dragon and talking to it soothingly, while Percival and his aurors looked on, ready to interfere if necessary.

“Now, beautiful,” Percival heard the softly uttered words, “how about you let me help you? Let me climb up onto your back and I will show you the way home. How about that, hmm?”

The dragon let out a sound like a sigh. Slowly, it folded its wings and lowered its neck, low enough for Scamander to climb up. Scamander didn’t, however, but continued petting its neck, looking at Percival over his shoulder.

“I believe she is now ready for me to fly her.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Kilonski muttered somewhere behind Percival and Percival could only second the sentiment.

* * *

Scamander flew the dragon to Boston. Percival, Rodilus and the two teams of air aurors followed them the entire way there, making sure the dragon was veiled from any No-Maj eyes, ensuring it wouldn’t harm anyone or anything in case Scamander would lose control over it.

Percival, for his part, couldn’t look away from Scamander who seemed more at home on a dragon than anywhere he had seen him before. It was difficult to not be impressed. Scamander was hugging the beast’s long neck, occasionally petting it, and his freckled skin, his golden hair had a silvery shade to them in the moon light. His curls seemed to dance in the wind.

They landed on a shore, the roar of the Atlantic Ocean as overpowering as the salty smell of the waves. Scamander bid the dragon a farewell and it flew away, high above the ocean, and Percival could finally relax his muscles, although he didn’t put his wand away until the dragon had completely disappeared in the horizon.

“Such an amazing being,” Scamander sounded wistful. “Beautiful and unique.”

Percival could only agree, although he was neither looking at nor thinking of the _dragon_.

Unique, indeed. Amazing.

Beautiful.

“Well, how about that for a day's work!” said Rodilus, cheerfully, giving Scamander's back a jovial pat before squinting at the horizon suspiciously. "You sure it won’t come back to bother us again?"

“I should well think not” Scamander said with a thoughtful frown. “Why would she want to get lost again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me a while to update because I've been focusing more on Plan G lately.
> 
> Let me know what you think! :)


	5. Cake and Tea

Scamander was late.

Percival appreciated punctuality, almost as much as he valued established rules, precise order, and all the control he had over his life, but some people - Scamander clearly among them - didn't share the same principles.

Glancing at his pocket watch engraved with the family coat-of-arms again with a sigh, Percival frowned. 6.50. They had been supposed to meet at 6PM, precisely.

Scamander's behavior was difficult to predict, that was abundantly clear, at least when beasts weren't being mistreated.

Running a hand through his hair to make sure it was still neatly in place, Percival flipped through his records yet again. He had been doing that for closer to forty minutes by now, determined as he was to be standing there when Miss Pines would bring Scamander in.

It had been a difficult decision to choose whether it would be for the best if he was sitting at his desk when Miss Pines brought Scamander in, looking busy, or whether it would be better to welcome him at the door. If he sat at his desk looking busy, Percival had mused, Scamander would come to understand Percival was making time _just for him_ , but on the other hand, he hadn't wanted Scamander to feel like he was bothering him, preventing him from working – he wanted the man to feel welcomed in his office, after all.

Eventually Percival had settled for standing by his gramophone, flipping through the fifteen records over and over, so it would look like he had just happened to take a break from work. That way, it would be obvious he was busy _but_ still prepared to give Scamander his time – and Scamander wouldn’t be made to feel like he had interrupted anything.

Now, though, Percival had had to stand there by the gramophone for closer to forty minutes because Scamander was over fifty minutes late.

Percival sighed to himself. He _hated_ it when people were late. Logically, he therefore should have also been exasperated by Scamander's tardiness - and perhaps he was, too - but more than that, he found himself now mostly just wishing the man _would_ eventually show up, late or not.

He had grown used to their shared evening. He could go as far as to say _he looked forward to them_ , much to his great surprise.

Finally, after having waited for over an hour, Percival had to give up on hope Scamander would come to their meeting that evening. Disappointed, he went to sit at his desk, opening the nearest case file - when the door was pulled open and Miss Pines led Scamander in before hastily leaving, her face flushed like it always was when she thought she was bringing Scamander to Percival for fucking and for some ink-play.

Scamander stood there in front of the closed door, staring at his soaked boots, lips downturned. His hair was a disarray like always, clothes all wrinkled up and smudged - with his gentle demeanor and lean limbs, he was nonetheless a sight to sore eyes.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said in a quiet voice. “There was a flooding in my suitcase.”

Somewhat stunned Scamander was suddenly there, Percival fumbled for something to say.

"Did, erm-" he coughed, gesturing with a hand, desperate for something to say. "Did anything... die?"

They both flinced - why on earth had he asked something as insensitive as _that_ , of all things! Scamander shook his head and began to wring his hands.

“Thank Merlin, no.”

He glanced up at Percival, seeming to take in the piles of files on the desk, the one opened, before quickly lowering his gaze again, the tips of his ears turning red.

“I- I s-should have been on time. You are clearly b-busy, I’m now interrupting. I can come by later? Or not _later_ because it’s evening already and you will soon go home to sleep, but tomorrow? Or- or later tonight, if you’d rather? That is fine, too, I can sleep - or not sleep - later, I don’t mind. Or-”

“Now is fine,” Percival cut him off, annoyed with himself – why hadn’t he just stood there by the gramophone for a little while longer? They had had similar exchanges for what seemed like every time Scamander entered his office, Scamander was always apologizing for interrupting, Percival was always saying things either insensitive or outright insulting.

Scamander seemed to hear the annoyance in his voice, for he began to worry his lip, the red on his ears spreading onto his cheeks.

Clearing his throat, Percival stood up abruptly - only for Scamander to give a start and a bit of a flinch. Gritting his teeth, Percival swore to himself he would keep all his movements slow from then on to not again startle the man.

The image of Scamander hugging _a dragon_ popped into his head. He tried to shake it away.

“Please, do sit down.”

He gestured, as non-threateningly as he simply could, towards the Chesterfield and Scamander hurried to seat himself onto it in such a haste it was almost like Percival had just declared he would turn everything but the sofa into lava. With a deep breath, Percival too went to sit on the sofa, making sure to leave a comfortable distance between the two of them. He didn’t want to crowd Scamander who seemed anxious enough as it was.

A silence fell while his teapot poured them both a cup of tea. Scamander took the offered cup and stared into it like considering the possibility of drowning in it.

Percival sighed to himself.

It had admittedly gotten insulting after a while, the way Scamander looked ready to bolt whenever they sat together on the Chesterfield - even when Percival put enough effort into it to serve him rosemary tea and vanilla cake, presuming a Brit would appreciate the gesture. Nonetheless, after what Grindelwald had done to Scamander while wearing his face, he couldn't blame Scamander for his negative reaction. In fact, it spoke highly of him, the way he was making an effort to get to know the real Percival Graves even if Percival's face now represented to him cruelty and almost getting executed, among other things.

"Sugar, or milk?" Percival offered, a bit desperately, only for Scamander - with his eyes wide and horrified like Percival had such threatened to drink his blood, or something equally bizarre - to shake his head so fast it almost looked like he might accidentally end up breaking his neck.

Stifling a frustrated sigh, Percival resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Or perhaps something stronger? Scotch?"

Scamander...

squeaked - for Mercy _fucking_ Lewis' sake - he _squeaked_ like a mouse about to get eaten by a cat, again shaking his head furiously, and this time Percival couldn't help but pinch the bridge of his nose, frustrated with his constant failures to put Scamander at ease.

What would it take to make the man relax in his company?

Growing desperate, Percival turned the gramophone on with a wave of his finger and instantly a violin waltz of some kind filled the office with its harmonious melody.

Only, the waltz - pleasant though it was - made Scamander stutter.

"I'm quite c-clumsy," he said, like he was afraid Percival might ask him to dance, in a such a high-pitched voice it clearly betrayed his nerves. "T-terribly so. Hahaha."

After letting out the worst fake chuckle Percival had ever heard, Scamander looked down at his tea, taking a slow sip. His face was the very picture of misery.

Disappointed, Percival thought of the ease and eagerness with which Scamander had interracted with the dragon two days earlier. Scamander had seemed to love it, the dealing with the beast. He had even defied Percival for it, he had argued his case bravely - _then_ he hadn't been afraid, not of the dragon, not of Percival.

Percival studied the contents of his tea cup, self-depracating.

Apparently, he was much scarier than a fire-breathing dragon.

"If it makes this any easier for you," he told Scamander, only half-joking, "you could always pretend I'm one of your beasts. For all you know, I could be a vampire."

Scamander seemed to pause for a moment. The look on his face was one of startled surprise.

"Actually," he said with an awkward cough, "I'd rather not pretend you're anything but yourself. Besides, you couldn't possibly be a vampire."

The following lecture on why Percival "most certainly" could _not_ be a vampire had his round eyes shine and the downturned lips turn up into an outright grin.

Percival barely dared to breathe lest a word by him might make Scamander's shine dimmer.

He didn't particularly like vanilla cake or tea, but he ate and drank in silence, enjoying Scamander's company just as much as Scamander probably didn't enjoy his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had forgotten all about this fic, but a comment earlier today by River_T_h_am_es made me recall I had never finished this, so I rewrote some stuff and added a quick update. Woah. What a wait! Sorry about that. Keep me motivated and I'll update again.
> 
> Thanks for all the love so far!


	6. The Public Secret

It got out, the word of his supposed affair with Scamander, but even if he was aware of that to a degree, the marmalades still took him by surprise.

Complimentary marmalades to be precise, wrapped in see-through silk paper.

Bewildered, Percival frowned down at them, weighing the bag in his hand, before giving the cashier a questioning look.

He had only come to the store for shaving cream; he was almost out – there were only two bottles left.

”For your _sweetheart_ of course, dear,” the Asian cashier said with a grandmotherly smile, inclining her grey head towards – towards Scamander, whom Percival hadn’t even noticed browsing through one magazine or another some distance away by the magazine stand with a focused look on his face as if leafing through a witch magazine was a matter of great concentration to him. By his side, a shopping list was floating, calling out items to buy – _“Soap! Butter! Bread! Don’t forget the red yarn! The latest _Wanderful Witch_ for Queenie! Sunflower seeds for Tina!”_

Snapping his gaze away from Scamander’s behind where it had been lingering, Percival gave the old witch on the other side of the counter a steady look. In a dismissive manner, he put a few coins onto the counter.

“He’s not my sweetheart.”

This only made the witch hide a giggle behind a frail, wrinkly hand, even as her cash register gobbled down the coins from the counter.

“I understand completely,” Penny – as her nametag read – gave him an exaggerated wink, brown eyes twinkling in delight over the golden spectacles, and Percival grabbed the bottle of shaving cream from where she was holding it out to him. “You are _not_ meeting here secretly. I did _not_ even see you here, either one of you, and definitely not _together_ , at the same time. In fact,” pursing her pale lips, she paused to lean in closer over the counter, glancing around them as if to make sure they couldn’t be overheard, “I’m now _not_ telling you the door to our backrooms is unlocked, so if you wanted to take your darling there for some… ‘privacy’, I would be more than glad to again ‘not see anything’. You can trust me, Mr. Graves – my husband works for MACUSA.”

“Thank you,” said Percival politely, resisting the urge to grit his teeth. “While your discretion is appreciated, it’s hardly needed because nothing untoward is taking place. I’m only here to make my purchase, as I dare say is he.”

“As you say, dear,” Penny said, kindly. “You make a lovely couple, in any case.”

There were people behind him waiting for their turn to pay and so Percival, bothered, moved aside to allow them access to the counter.

He could have just left, apparated back to work, but it would have admittedly been outright rude to refuse a gift, especially on someone else’s behalf, and so – instead of disapparating – Percival went reluctantly to Scamander, the shaving cream bottle shoved deep into his coat pocket, the marmalade bag held carefully in hand.

As Percival stopped by his elbow, Scamander – always looking out for others – was deep in perusal of an article about no-maj women’s suffrage, something Percival had followed quite closely due to his work. In his mind, the low status of no-maj women was yet another reason why The International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was quite simply indispensable, something Seraphina easily agreed on. She was the thirtieth president the American wizarding society had elected and she sometimes liked to speculate on how her life might have turned out had she not been born a witch – none of her potential no-maj life scenarios sounded pleasant.

“Marmalade?”

Scamander’s head shot up, but despite of his obvious alarm, he didn’t give a start, used to not making such sudden moves as he undoubtedly was due to his time spent dealing with wild creatures. Round eyes regarded Percival for a beat before the head was bent _just so_ , only enough for the fringe to fall between the two of them, in front of Scamander’s eyes like a protective wall.

“I don’t have any,” was said, softly. “I’m sorry. I can- I can buy you some, if you want?”

“ _No,_ ” Percival said, stiffly, feeling awkward as he held out the marmalade bag in explanation. “I meant, I have marmalade. For you. If you want them.”

Blinking fast, Scamander studied the bag like it might bite him. Slowly, he reached out and took it from Percival, hesitantly.

“Um,” he paused. “Thank you? But why-”

A sudden flash of light and an equally bright, “Thank you, gentlemen!” cut him off midsentence.

Barbara Effington grinned at them broadly from where she was standing by them with her camera. Stepping instinctively in front of Scamander to hide him from her view, Percival gave her a cool look – he was used to the press occasionally ambushing him and he had learnt at a young age – as the heir to the Graves Estates – to stay calm in the face of their cameras. It was better to not give them a reaction, especially one they could turn foul.

“May I please have an interview, Mr. Graves?”

“I’m sure you may,” said Percival, hiding his annoyance under the polite tone, “but not with me. Good day.”

Never one to leave lambs for wolves, he grasped an unresisting Scamander by the elbow, guided him to the cashier to pay – and then disapparated them both from there where Barbara Effington with her sharp quill and obtruding camera could see.

Turned out, that was exactly the kind of a reaction the press loved:

Mere days later, _The Wanderful Witch_ ran a romanticized article about “their secret affair”, describing Percival as “a heartthrob top” and Scamander something along the lines of “a sweet eccentric”. Effington claimed Percival was keeping “their relationship” a secret due to his protectiveness and his high position, due to fear that someone might try to use Scamander against him. Effington even managed to find and interview one of the politicians who had caught “the love doves in the act in the heart of MACUSA” and the politician didn’t hold back any details, going as far as mentioning the color of the ink “the director had been pouring onto them at the time”.

By the time both _The East Coast Incantation_ as well as _The Wizarding Mind_ had some weeks later written their takes on “MACUSA’s Public Secret”, and such a highly regarded newspaper as _The Financially Reasonable Wizardry_ had casually referred to Scamander as “Director Graves’ eccentric partner”, Percival had to admit defeat – in the public eye, he was as good as dating Scamander, even if in private the man could barely sit next to him without looking faint like a bunny trapped in a hole with a hungry fox.

Even though none of it was true, it somehow became a public secret – and granted, more public than a secret.

People would look at him differently, giving him knowing smiles and winks – wanting to be in on his secret to show him in some twisted sort of logic they were trustworthy – even if a few dared to say anything about “secret affairs” to his face – whether out of respect or just plain decency, that Percival couldn’t tell. The worst thing was, most people appeared genuinely happy for him. Seraphina and his aurors even seemed _thankful_ to Scamander.

“Of course we’re grateful to him,” Rodilus scoffed, awkward as always when talking about feelings. “After all you’ve been through, after our colossal failure to protect you better, how couldn’t we? It’s nice you’re getting some, boss.”

“I am _not_ dating Scamander.”

It was the seventh time he said so, but again Rodilus merely shrugged, not at all teasingly, just resigned and perhaps a bit pitying.

“Keep the relationship a secret if you feel it’s necessary,” he said, “but he’s making you happy and that’s the main thing. You have my complete support however you decide to approach the situation.”

"The situation", as Rodilus had put it, annoyed Percival to the degree he considered suing the news publishers in all seriousness, but in the end he decided it would have just brought more attention to the whole affair. He wouldn’t have minded the attention for as long as there would be constructive results by the end of it, but he didn’t want to bring that onto Scamander who really did deserve better. Scamander still couldn’t look him in the eye for more than a few seconds at a time and the thought of putting Scamander in the middle of a public storm was enough to prevent Percival from taking any legal action.

It was no lie he was attracted to Scamander – had been from the start – but Scamander could barely stand to be in his presence, and so the constant reminders of how they were viewed as a couple by the general public were actually surprisingly painful.

Percival wished people would soon let the matter drop, but that didn’t happen. Instead, from then on, Scamander was always seated right next to him at social gatherings. At the Yule ball, Seraphina even secured them a separate table, thinking it a kindness, and to say it was awkward to share the table with only just Scamander – who kept on flinching and wouldn’t look him in the eye once despite of his best efforts to put him at ease – while the MACUSA personnel around either cooed at them or pretended they weren’t looking would have been an understatement.

Worse than a dragon, Percival was. It was clear to him by now.

* * *

“We should talk,” Percival told Scamander some time in January when the public interest in their “secret love life” showed no signs of dying out any time soon.

They were again sitting in his office on the Chesterfield, Scamander with a cup of tea while Percival hadn’t been able to settle for anything milder than whiskey to get through this conversation. At some point, Pickett – whom Percival was well familiar with by now – had climbed up onto his head and Percival was honored to be considered a good enough tree for a bit of a climb – he had managed to coax a smile out of Scamander by admitting to as much, so the admission had been worth it.

“We should talk,” he said again with more emphasis, clearing his throat.

He didn’t want to, but they should.

Flushed, Scamander had turned his back to Percival, not enough to come across as impolite but enough so they weren’t facing each other. By now, Percival knew Scamander well enough to know it wasn’t rudeness but a show of vulnerability and uncertainty – Scamander was just as nervous as Percival was pretending to not be.

“Indeed,” Scamander’s soft voice matched his meek body language. “I suppose it’s unavoidable.”

Pausing, Percival tried to think of an alternative way out, just to spare Scamander the discomfort, but he couldn’t think of any that would properly work. Sighing in reluctance, he took a joyfully chirping Pickett from among his hair and placed it onto Scamander’s shoulder – the creature would undoubtedly bring Scamander some degree of comfort – before proceeding on,

“It must have come to your attention that the public believes we are together in the romantic sense of the word. They believe we are being physical with each other, physical with the purpose of giving each other pleasure.“

“Yes, I’m well aware.”

Scamander’s neck was redder than Percival had ever seen it. His tone was so strangled even Pickett seemed to note it, for it went to press its head against Scamander’s throat as if to listen to what was wrong in it. Scamander was quick to pet it, soothingly, and Percival couldn’t help the fondness he felt for the man – Scamander, always ready to comfort others even, and especially, when he himself was in need of comfort.

This clearly was not an easy topic for him to talk about it – a supposed affair he was having with a man he could barely stand to be with in the same room at the same time – and Percival was truly sorry they had come to the point where he had to make Scamander uncomfortable to such a degree. Had it not been for Seraphina's direct order, he would have long since put an end to their shared evenings to give Scamander some peace of mind - as it was, Seraphina wouldn't even hear of it when he brought the topic up with her - _"Don't be so self-sacrificing, Percival,"_ she would say. _"Just enjoy your time together and forget professionalism for once."_

Nonetheless, this conversation could no longer be avoided and so he pressed forward.

“I have done my best to quell down such baseless rumors, but since that has been ineffective, it now seems like we must try to come up with a different approach. Perhaps a joined statement, or something similar.”

“That wouldn’t work,” Scamander mumbled. “People would just think you’re ‘trying to keep me safe’. That’s what they’re saying already and a joined statement would only serve to cement that rumor.”

That could well be, Percival had to admit to as much after several of the statements they had given separately had done just that: The more he tried to deny the rumors, the more the public seemed to believe he was having an affair with Scamander – _“You’re such a gentleman for trying to protect him by keeping your feelings for him a secret,”_ Seraphina had told him when he had protested. _“I wish more people were like you. I’m proud to call you my friend, Percival.”_

Turning slowly back to Percival, Scamander was biting his lip like he had an idea but was hesitant to voice it.

“What is it?” Percival encouraged, gently. “Speak your mind, if you have something to say.”

“Well, um…” Scamander seemed to be curling in on himself like a hedgehog defending himself from predators. “I just… Erm, it seems to be the secrecy catching people’s interest more so than the a-affair itself, so if we were to remove that, perhaps the situation would eventually solve itself out?”

Percival felt suddenly faint. Scamander couldn’t mean…

He drank down the rest of his whiskey, enjoying the burn of it, and poured himself more. He needed it.

“You’re suggesting, what, exactly?”

Scamander seemed to hesitate.

“If,” he cleared his throat, “if we were to make a joined statement _confirming_ the rumor, there would no longer be any secrecy, would there, and people would eventually lose interest and let us be.”

Mercy fucking Lewis.

Scamander wanted them to release a public statement confirming they were dating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is my way of thanking the people who have left me comments and encouragements along the way - so thank you! I especially wrote this to Limoncello_Bella, who works long hours and deserves some cheering up.


	7. Sweethearts

Like all things in life, Percival took his role as a fake boyfriend extremely seriously. He now had a pen in his hand and he was making a list of all the things he should take in consideration as someone’s pretend sweetheart.

“Should we use endearments when referring to one another?”

“I don’t see why not,” Scamander shrugged from where he was sitting on the Chesterfield with his legs crossed under him, a mooncalf half in his lap as he fed her milk with a bottle, and Percival proceeded to list the kind of endearments he would be fine with using.

Pet. Sweetheart.

Was “love” a bit too much?

Doll was fine, in any case.

He glanced up. Curly reddish brown hair. Freckles. Such delicate features. Lean limbs. Narrow waist.

Scamander really was a doll.

Percival underlined “doll” in his list.

“Where can I touch you?” was his next question once he was finished with the list of endearments. “Only if it becomes absolutely necessary, of course,” he hastily clarified when he noticed the wide-eyed look sent in his way. “I will not touch you otherwise. Only when necessary.”

The fringe fell in front of the round eyes and Scamander bent his head.

“You can touch my shoulders, if you’re- if you’re okay with that,” was said in a voice low enough almost to be drowned out by the sucking noises caused by the mooncalf drinking eagerly. “My arms. My back. My hands.”

“What about your hair?”

“That’s fine, too.”

Frowning to himself, Percival scribbled it all down, focused. This was extremely important. He didn’t want to cross any of Scamander’s lines by accident.

“What about you?” the quiet voice cut into his thoughts. “Where can I touch you? Only when absolutely necessary, of course.”

“Wherever you like,” Percival promised, distracted. “Wherever you need to in order to make our relationship believable.”

“I understand,” was said but not loudly enough for Percival to hear.

* * *

While always careful with his looks, Percival began to now pay even closer attention to the finer details of his outfits and went through his whole wardrobe, disregarding such items of clothing he supposed he could wear as a bachelor but never in a relationship if he didn’t want to embarrass his partner in public.

Granted, he didn’t have many clothes worthy of embarrassment, but he did throw away a few pairs of worn socks and one yellow tie Rodilus had once given him in an attempt to “brighten up” his wardrobe some. He had worn that tie to work precisely once, for polite reasons, as one was to do when given a gift – up until Rodilus had taken pity on him and had told him to wear _“one of the grey ones, if it makes you feel better – Lewis, boss, you look like I’ve threatened to strangle you with it. Cheer up some, will you – no-one wearing a yellow tie is supposed to look that glum, that’s the entire point of happy, yellow ties!”_

Seeing Rodilus’ gift tie prompted Percival into buying Scamander gifts, too, because that’s what he would have done had their relationship been a genuine one. A real relationship or not – with emphasis on the word “not” – he still enjoyed gifting Scamander with things, surprising him with items either useful or pretty or both, and when Scamander received something like a new lock for his suitcase or a pair of durable boots spelled to withstand even corroding potions, his cheeks became rosy and he would say, “Thank you, Mr. Graves, this is a thoughtful gift,” in that gentle manner of his – and that was really all Percival could ask for.

“Thank you, Mr. Graves,” Scamander said when they were feeding a bouquet of roses to a himsipuff Scamander had carefully fetched from his suitcase. “Himsipuffs are notoriously fond of roses. I hope you don’t mind if Elizabeth eats them all?”

“Not at all,” said Percival because it was fascinating to see a snake feasting on flowers. “Tell you what, I’ll buy her even more.”

And so it happened that he began to carry creature snacks on him, including the roses for Elizabeth and potatoes for Oliver.

Fortunately, he had magically enlarged pockets because otherwise that might have been a problem, seeing as there were a lot of creatures in Newt’s care – he knew from having signed the permissions for them himself.

* * *

On the third week after their relationship had been confirmed in the papers, Percival framed the one photo of Newt he had, the one given to him by Rodilus, and placed it proudly on his desk where everyone could see. It gave him a thrill to put it there in clear view, and a fake relationship theirs though was, he still enjoyed seeing those shy glances aimed in his direction whenever he raised his eyes from his work.

Then it occurred to him it might be a bit odd, if he only showcased that one photo as if he didn’t have any others. Rodilus, for one, would make comments about it – knowing Rodilus, he would likely boast about it and never stop mentioning how _he_ had given that particular photo to Percival. He would never shut up about it and Percival simply wouldn’t have the patience for that. No, that just wouldn’t do.

As it was, Percival _didn’t_ have other photos of Newt – which was why, whenever he wasn’t working, he spent the next week by taking a bewildered Newt to different locations of New York City, photographing Newt in front of the Statue of Liberty, on the Hudson River, at various locations he could think of. By Sunday, he had a high pile of lovely photos, and since he couldn’t decide on which photos to put on his desk, he just attached them all to the wall of his office.

“I never much liked that dull wallpaper anyway,” he said by way of explanation when Newt wouldn’t stop gaping at the wall now covered almost entirely with photos of _him_ , of Newt, of Newt smiling softly or gazing up at the sky or sitting with his legs crossed on a park bench or eating ice cream or trying to feed a charmsquirrel with nuts.

Newt finally closed his mouth, turning to Percival with reddened ears.

“You have quite a lot of photos of me,” he said in his soft-spoken manner, his gaze behind the reddish brown fringe aimed at a spot on Percival’s shoulder. “I don’t mind, but it has occurred to me I have none of you. Would it be of bother, if I took a few photos of you as well? In case someone asks.”

Which was how they ended up spending their free evenings by going around New York, this time with Percival being the one to pose wherever Newt decided he should.

By the end of that week, they realized they had no photos of the two of them together like every couple should have and so Percival hired a discreet photographer to follow after them that third week up until both Newt and him both had a suitable amount of photographs of them doing things together.

“You’ve been going out on a lot of dates recently,” Seraphina noted by the end of the month Percival and Newt had spent by photographing. “Good on you, but don’t you think _this_ ,” she gestured at The Wall of Newt, “is a bit… much?”

“There is no rule against it,” Percival knew from having memorized the rule book – and from having in fact written almost half of it himself over the years.

“Besides,” he had to add because, by Lewis, he was a professional at all times, “the photographs have tactical value.”

Seraphina gave him an unimpressed look like she didn’t quite believe him.

“Tactical value. Really?”

“Definitely.”

“Pray tell then, how do the photos of your sweetheart have any tactical value whatsoever?”

Percival could feel the heat rising up on his cheeks, but he held his back straight and levelled Seraphina with a carefully polite look.

He refused to feel embarrassed in his own office.

“Their presence in my office makes my Patronus Charm particularly potent.”

A thoughtful frown appeared on Seraphina’s forehead. Slowly, she nodded in approval.

“Good idea, Percival,” she decided. “To surround yourself with reminders of happiness – perhaps that should be the general practice at MACUSA, it would definitely have a positive impact on the Patronus Charms and you never know beforehand when you might need those.”

* * *

Rodilus threw back his head and brayed with laughter when Percival gave him the same explanation he had given Seraphina.

“I bet,” Rodilus said when he managed to again speak, “I bet those photos make things potent other than your charms, too!”

Sometimes Percival wondered why he hadn’t yet made Rodilus the head of their Alaskan base.

“Because you’d miss me,” came the instant reply. “If I wasn’t married and you weren’t in love with Newt, we would make a great couple – admit it!”

“Hardly,” Percival said, stiffly. “I don’t have a thing for assholes.”

He regretted it the moment he said it because it made Rodilus leer suggestively.

“Oh but Percival,” and Rodilus had the gall to point at one of the photos on the wall, the one in which Newt was bent over feeding the charmsquirrel, his ass nicely on display, “you _do_ have a thing for assholes – and that’s totally all right. There’s nothing wrong w-“

“Get out of my office,” said Percival tiredly, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Lewis knows I’ve seen enough of your ugly face for today.”

Rodilus gave him a salute, grinning, and then he and his annoyingly bright yellow tie were out of the office and Percival could hide his face in his hands.

Lewis.

It was going to be a long day.

Sighing, he looked up at The Wall of Newt. At least the photographs were there to give him company.

The thought cheered him up.

And he hadn’t been lying – his Patronus Charm _was_ particularly effective nowadays with Newt’s photos all over the wall. The memory of Newt was powerful in that way.

His feelings for Newt were powerful.

* * *

When they were in public, Newt would hold his hand when there were no no-majs around (no-majs were oddly prejudiced against same sex couples), but when it was just the two of them in Percival’s office, the gap on the sofa between them remained as wide as ever. Percival avoided touching Newt as to not make him uncomfortable in any way, but if he attempted to spend more time with Newt in public just to get to hold hands, neither one of them commented on it.

* * *

Percival couldn’t tell when “Scamander” had turned into “Newt” in his mind, but the name fit and so he let the matter drop.

* * *

When Percival got back after the meeting with Jacob Jacobs, who was the head of their base in Texas, there was a rhino waiting in his office, one that was eyeing his desk and the guest chairs in front of it as if it was contemplating on placing its huge bulk into one of the two chairs.

“Don’t even think about it,” was out of Percival’s mouth before he had even pulled the door closed. “I swear, Scamander, if you break either one of my guest chairs, I’ll file an official complaint to all your superiors and when I’m done with it all, the paperwork will take you three weeks to read through and complete, at minimum.”

The rhino gave him an unimpressed look and snorted as if it was trying to let out a long-suffering sigh, but it refrained from sitting down on the chairs which was all Percival cared about. Barely a second later, a red-haired wizard was standing in the rhino’s place, giving Percival the same unimpressed look from behind the round spectacles.

“Please,” was said in a pleasant British accent, politely. “Paperwork numbs my buttocks. I can’t stand it.”

The wizard was shorter and stockier than his little brother, but the hair curled similarly even if the older of the Scamander brothers kept his shorter and had made an effort to comb it neatly. This Scamander was even wearing a perfectly respectable brown tie and a pair of silver cufflinks on the sleeves of his white collar shirt.

“Theseus Scamander,” Percival acknowledged the man with a brief handshake and gestured then towards the guest chairs – Scamander could sit down now that there was no risk of anything breaking.

“Percival Graves, I presume,” said Theseus Scamander from under his neatly spelled reddish brown hair, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he took his seat.

“Indeed. My secretary informed me you were waiting for me, but I was unaware you would be in your animagus form.”

Theseus Scamander was famed for his rhino animagus. He had initially learnt to become an animagus to join the elite Auror Animagi, but when it turned out his animagus form was a rhino, his superiors had informed him the aurors based in London had little use for a rhino auror and so Theseus had been made into an air auror instead due to his flying skills. In the war, though, a rhino animagus had been an effective force, and while Percival knew little of what Theseus had been up to in the war exactly, it was well known Theseus Scamander had spent a considerable time on the battlefields in his animagus form.

“There’s a lot of that going around,” Theseus Scamander now said, voice carefully neutral as the blue eyes took in Percival, studying him from head to toe, the sharp gaze lingering on the shoulder holster before he looked up and met Percival’s gaze unflinchingly like his brother rarely ever did. “Of not being aware of things that should be obvious, I mean, such as a rhino standing in the middle of one’s own office – or one’s little brother in a relationship with a handsome, wealthy, well-respected American. The papers have been going on about it for months here in the States, or so I have been told. The Daily Prophet only caught on last Wednesday.”

Instead of replying, Percival unbuttoned his suit jacket and took his seat at the mahogany desk, giving the papers marked as “URGENT” a cursive glance to determine how urgent the matters were and whether they could wait until he had discussed with Theseus Scamander. Fortunately, the most urgent case had to do with a holiday request and so Percival could give the man before him a few minutes of his precious time.

“Tea?”

“Please,” said Theseus Scamander, and Percival’s tea pot instantly hurried to pour him a cup of tea. The cookie jar came jumping up onto the table as well.

“Help yourself.” Percival waved a hand towards the jar. “Chocolate chips, mostly. If there’s anything left. Newt likes to snack on them when he’s here.”

Theseus didn’t make a move to reach for the jar and instead stared at it intently like hoping it would reveal him carefully guarded secrets.

“And is Newton here often?”

After a pause, Percival said, apologetically,

“Perhaps you should ask him rather than me.”

What else could he say? Theseus had clearly found out about their supposed relationship and was now here for whatever reason relating to it.

This was unexpected. Newt had assured him no Scamander would show any interest in their affairs for as long as they stayed on this side of the Atlantic. Clearly he had been mistaken – and Percival didn’t now know what to say, whether to confirm or deny his relationship with Newt.

The papers marked as “URGENT” flashed red light at him.

“I’m a busy man, so I must ask you to get straight to the point,” Percival decided on the frank approach, browsing through the papers again. “Are you here to warn me off your brother?”

“Please,” Theseus said, waving a dismissive hand. He was no longer staring at the cookie jar but was instead studying The Wall of Newt with narrowed eyes. “I only want Newt to be happy, and based on what I’m seeing here on the wall, he spends a lot of time with you. If he’s deeply enough involved with you to want to make it public, you two must be… happy together. Right?”

While Percival fought the urge to wince – the whole relationship was a lie and the only thing he was making Newt was afraid, happiness was far from it – Theseus reached for the tea cup and held it in his hand as if to weight it. He didn’t drink.

“Frankly, Mr. Graves,” he went on, lowering the untouched teacup down onto the table while Percival made sure to keep the expression on his face something between neutral and polite, “I received a peculiar letter from my brother some days ago. In it, I was told by no uncertain terms to not get involved in his affairs in any manner or form. Newton told me to stay away from New York and asked me to not contact you. I was under no circumstances to come here to talk to you.”

“Yet, here you are.”

“Yet,” Theseus smiled, joylessly, gesturing at himself, “here I am. Where I believe I might be needed.”

Theseus leant back in his chair, the sharp eyes focused on Percival in all their intensity. Percival took the situation with all due seriousness, but he wasn’t intimidated – he had faced worse than protective brothers.

“You see, Mr. Graves,” said Theseus, never once looking away, “there is something wrong with this picture, and I’m here to find out how my little brother might possibly have gotten himself in a relationship with you when he can barely talk to strangers without stuttering. A pretty boy all alone in the world, anything could happen, especially when men in power like you have their ways to get what they want. I wonder if you were particularly – shall we say – _persuasive_ in getting to him. Is it blackmail? Perhaps you are holding one of his creatures hostage.“

“Or,” said Newt from where he was standing in the doorway, still gripping the door handle with Miss Pines making a hasty retreat behind him, “you could come to _me_ instead of Percival and talk to _me_ instead of ambushing him here in his office. This is highly inappropriate.”

Theseus was up on his feet in an instant, and although he didn’t turn his back to Percival, he did seem to focus his attention on Newt, who looked angrier than Percival had ever seen him before.

“Newt.” Theseus looked taken off guard. “Um, hello, gerbil. This is- this is hardly an _ambush_. We’re just talking.”

“Indeed?” Newt’s voice was dangerously calm. “Is that so?”

“Erm. Yes. You see-“

“I’ve asked you before to not do things behind my back,” said Newt, fists clenching. “We have talked about this before, Theseus, several times. We have even argued. This time, to prevent that, I specifically owled you about Percival beforehand and asked you to give me and him some room regardless of what you would read in the papers. Yet, it seems like you weren’t actually listening.”

“I _was_ listening!” Theseus sounded upset as he pushed his glasses up his nose. “I _am_ listening. Newt, I know I’ve been rotten to you in the past and I’m trying to make it up to you by protecting you.”

“If I need your protection, I’ll ask for it!”

“What do you even know about this man, this Graves, hm? One moment you’re happily traveling the world like you were born to do, the next I hear you’ve settled down in New York to date MACUSA’s most powerful auror, the same who was recently kidnapped by none other than Grindelwald, and then you send me frantic letters telling me to stay away – you must admit that sounds suspicious.”

Percival grimaced.

“I strongly urge you to not again imply my unfortunate abduction has made me sympathize in any manner or form with Grindelwald,” he requested, politely, and Theseus’ eyes narrowed again as they shot to meet his. “I can assure you I have little in common with him, although it turned out during my captivity that we both enjoy cello music tremendously.”

Newt stepped fully into the office and pulled the door closed behind him, quietly – he wasn’t one to make much noise even when he was angry. He marched straight pass his brother, rounded the desk – and pushed Percival’s chair back just enough so he could place himself in Percival’s lap like he belonged there.

Only the considerable amount of experience he had on undercover work kept Percival from giving his startled surprise away. Instead, he allowed Newt to place his bottom in his lap, on his groin – _dear Lewis_ – and even managed a smile when Newt twisted his neck just enough to peck his lips like they were both used to giving and receiving such affection from each other.

With his heart racing, Percival decided it still counted: it was their first kiss.

And likely their last, too.

“Hullo, love,” Newt whispered, his breath hot and intimate against Percival’s skin. For once, he met Percival’s gaze for several long moments. There was something pleading in his eyes and that itself was enough for Percival to choose to play along with whatever Newt was now doing.

“Hi,” he therefore said and added, “Pet,” because that’s what he would have said had they been actually dating.

It seemed it was the right thing to say now, too, as something in Newt uncoiled like great tension had left him.

“I’m sorry about my brother. He shouldn’t have spoken about you like that.”

“That’s fine,” most things would have been fine with Newt whispering like that in his lap. “He’s just trying to look out for you.”

“Please, darling, don’t make excuses on his behalf.”

Having said as much, Newt turned to face Theseus Scamander, who looked uncomfortable standing there on the other side of the desk, uninvited, unwelcome, hearing everything.

“We are happy together, Theseus,” said Newt, vehemently, grasping Percival by the hand as if to emphasize his point. “I don’t need you looking constantly over my shoulder. I asked you to stay away, genuinely, because I knew you would do something like this the moment The Daily Prophet published that article last Wednesday. For once in your life, can’t you let me do my own decisions without interfering?”

Theseus rubbed his neck.

“I thought your letter was a coded attempt to reach out for help.”

“I assure you it wasn’t.”

“This is all so…” Theseus waved a hand, “so sudden and unexpected. I always thought you would settle down with some unassuming woman in your late thirties, I never imagined it would happen so soon and with someone like… someone like… um, Percival Graves. No offense, Mr. Graves.”

“None taken,” Percival assured.

“Some taken,” sniffed Newt, crossing his arms on his chest.

“Newt,” Theseus drummed his fingers on Percival’s desk. “I still think you should reconsider. Mom and dad think this is a bad idea – whirlwind romances just aren’t your thing, gerbil. We all think you should call this whole thing off and come back home to sort yourself out. Come home, Newt. Give yourself some time to think before you get involved with anyone any deeper. Remember what happened with Lestrade? We just don’t want you to get hurt, again.”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Newt breathed heavily through his nose, “ _don’t_ bring Leta into this.”

“I’m sorry, Newt,” said Theseus, not unkindly, “but think of it like this: you are pretty and really gentle, and people like that get taken advantage of. Mr. Graves is notoriously a bachelor, married only to his job – whatever you think he’s doing with you, it can’t be anything serious to him, not like it is to you. To make the matters even worse, he has a wall covered entirely with your photos, Newt – that’s creepy and obsessive.”

Percival hadn’t thought about it like that. He was suddenly embarrassed, his office or not.

Creepy and obsessive? No wonder Newt was afraid of him.

“I think it’s romantic,” Newt was saying, stubbornly. “I like the dedication.”

“It’s not romantic,” insisted Theseus, “and Graves will break your heart. Come home to people who love you before that happens.”

Newt was trembling and it was an instinct for Percival to wrap an arm around his narrow waist. Realizing what he had just done, he was about to withdraw it in case Newt felt trapped when Newt suddenly snatched onto it like Percival’s arm was the only thing keeping him steady.

Newt’s voice was quiet when he said, “Right now the only person hurting me is you, Theseus. Please leave.”

It took several more minutes for Theseus to finally leave and he only did it after telling Newt they would “talk later, in private, so _no-one_ would be there to put pressure on _anyone_ ”.

The second the door closed behind him, Newt jumped off of Percival’s lap like he couldn’t take it a moment longer. Percival tried to quell down his feelings of disappointment and longing, as now was neither the time nor the place.

Newt deserved better.

“I’m so s-sorry,” were the first words out of Newt’s mouth. “Terribly sorry. I should have just told Theseus the truth about us straight away. It’s just, Theseus can be so overbearing. I’m afraid my pride got the better of me and I couldn’t tell him, not now when everyone back home expects me to fail at this, even though _this_ isn’t even real, is it. They’ll likely laugh when they hear the truth, as if someone like _you_ would ever- Still, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to- It’s not- I’m sorry, Mr. Graves.”

“I’d rather you just kept calling me Percival,” Percival sighed, tiredly. “If you don’t mind.”

“I’m sorry, Percival,” Newt said again. He was wringing his hands. “I don’t know what got into me. I promise I’ll tell Theseus the truth. I just… need a minute to collect myself. Then I’ll go after him.”

* * *

The truth was, their relationship, pretend or not, was working wonders for Percival. He no longer received marriage proposals or suggestive comments and even his Aunt Lobelia had left him be and was no longer trying to set him up with potential spouses. Really, if it was up to Percival, they would just keep the fake relationship going and wouldn’t tell anyone the truth, not even their families and especially not to Aunt Lobelia.

He admitted as much to Newt, who listened to him in silence with a considering look on his face.

“Well,” Newt said, slowly, after a long pause. “I don’t _have to_ tell Theseus anything, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

“I would prefer it if we could keep up the façade for the time being, yes. If you could find it in yourself, I’d rather you didn’t tell Theseus the true nature of our relationship.”

Newt gave him a thin smile, “At least this will spare me from my family’s pity. Merlin knows I’ve had to endure enough of that already.”

* * *

The next day over dinner, it became apparent Newt and Theseus had clearly discussed, as Theseus apologized for running into “wrong conclusions”.

“I truly wish you both the best. You do make a lovely couple.”

“Thank you,” said Newt, squeezing Percival’s hand on the table like a real love interest would, and Theseus didn’t bat an eye.

They were that convincing, as a couple.

Percival himself was almost starting to believe their relationship was real, but when it was just him and Newt on his Chesterfield and Newt would sit with his back turned to Percival just so, it became always all too clear to Percival none of it was real.

Newt was scared of him, after all - at least when they were alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your support! This fic wouldn't exist without you. <3
> 
> If you want to read more, please let me know. I read all your comments and they are the thing that keeps me writing more chapters.


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